Grey eyes stared back at her in the glass, eyes that did not look ready for battle. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, and her sword was secured on her hip. She shifted uncomfortably, for hidden beneath her tunic was a thin layer of chainmail.

But not thin enough.

"I won't be able to move," she complained.

Melisandre fiery eyes met hers in the mirror. "It could save your life."

"It could cost me my life!" Arya spun around. "I'm quick, not—"

"Yes, you are. Quick enough that the mail won't set you back."

She grumbled as she turned back to the mirror. Her gaze drifted to Melisandre's reflection, taking in her tightly laced dress, with heavy, thick fabrics. "Are you really going to wear that?"

"I'm not fighting," she said simply. "Only praying."

Arya swallowed the lump in her throat. "Have you seen it?" She looked at her curiously. "The battle, I mean."

The priestess nodded. "Fire. Ash, stained red with blood. I see death and I see rebirth. Through smoke," she continued, "I see a fallen crown, I see new hands picking it up."

"We win, then?"

"Yes, Arya. We win. The Lord of Light wins. Azor Ahai wins."

He was sweet on her tongue. There was something desperate about the kiss, a fear that it could be the last time, a wanting that only war could bring on.

Arya had spotted him, across the deck. He was talking to his half-brother with sad eyes, and then the younger boy clapped a hand on Gendry's shoulder before turning away, fingers twitching across the hilt of the blade in his belt. Had he asked him not to fight?

She dragged him away from prying eyes, into a hallway and against a wall, and then brought her hungry lips to his own.

Melisandre had whisked her away once she had arrived on deck, taking it upon herself to ready her for battle. "Armor! Get armor," she called to Gendry as she was pulled beneath the deck. "And don't—"

Her voice was cut off by the smacking of the door being shut. That was the last time she saw him. It probably could not have been more than five minutes since then. But five minutes was too long to be away from him. Who knew how many minutes she had left?

Short of breath, they broke apart when they heard the beginnings of Melisandre's prayer, words of fire and devotion and blessings and protection. Protection from wildfire, she hoped.

"Not enough time," he whispered, breathy. His forehead rested against her own, and his hand caressed her cheek.

"There is never enough time." Her words were pained, and so was her smile. She shook her head and slanted her lips over his once more.

Her back ended up pressed against the wall, her legs around wrapped around him and his hands on her thighs to keep her steady. The mail beneath her tunic chafed as a hand drifted up her side, but she didn't care.

Something hard was digging into her leg—well, two hard somethings, but one she could not identify. As he kissed her neck, her hand wandered to his hip and the unidentifiable object.

She looked down, her fingers dancing across it. "Is that a war hammer?"

"Oh," he blushed. "Yeah, His Grace… he talked to me some, when you were with Lady Melisandre. He gave it to me."

Arya nodded. "You've held a hammer in your hands all your life."

"Yes."

"It suits you." Much better than a sword does.

Her hand drifted across his breeches, to the other hard something. She dipped into his waistband, and he groaned low in his throat, burying his face into her shoulder and breaking their eye contact.

She undid the laces, pulling him out and slowly stroking up and down. "Don't tease me." He sounded almost in pain. "We're about to go into battle—"

"I'm not teasing." She fumbled with her own laces.

"Right here?" Someone will see, his bewildered eyes said. "Right now?"

"Right here. Right now."

She kissed him roughly, and with another groan he hastily tugged her breeches down. Her hand guided him inside her, no need or time for anything else.

A gasp fell from her lips. Her hand tightened its grip on his neck. She moved with him, rocking against him as he moved in and out, their bodies in a practiced and familiar sync with one another.

No one entered the darkened hallway, and hopefully no one heard the noises either. Gasps and moans, hitches and shudders of breath, whispered names…

Melisandre's preaching was in the distance, joined by a chorus of other voices, but neither could really process the prayers. Nor could they care.

Her release came too soon, Gendry's thumb circling around that bundle of nerves and his whispered words in her ear, begging her to let go. "Please, Arya, I can't..."

But she never wanted to let go. She wanted this to last forever.

It couldn't, though. Arya knew better than anyone that nothing lasted forever, no matter how much she wished and prayed and longed for it.

And then she realized. She whispered it, eyes glistening and her lip caught between her teeth.

"I think I want to marry you, too."

Blood was on her tongue, her bottom lip raw and torn by teeth. It stung.

Anxiety had her in its clutches, the pounding of her heart loud in her ears and her stomach twisting into borderline painful knots.

She had been somewhat relaxed after being well and properly fucked against a wall, albeit a tad bit over emotional. But that calm was gone.

The drumbeat did nothing to soothe her, but only left her even more on edge. It vibrated every time it was struck, loud and unsettling. And every time, she would flinch.

"What is the point of the stupid drums?" she growled through her teeth. "Shouldn't we try to catch them unawares?"

Gendry stood beside her, much more stoic than she currently managed. But Arya could still glimpse the panic behind his eyes. "Morale?"

"Morale," she muttered under her breath. "I don't think it's helping."

Her eyes scanned over the surrounding crowd: men from boyhood to adulthood and something in between, men she knew by name and some with faces she could not place, sellswords and lords, she-bears, and an onion knight and his king.

All of them looked nervous, though some more so than others. Some were better at masking their fear.

Melisandre, though. She was not afraid.

If she was, she did not give the slightest hint of it.

She stood at the outermost edge of the massive warship, her hands gripping the railing tight whilst scarlet hair and skirts whirled in the wind, chanting her chants to her Lord of Light.

King's Landing was in the distance, before her eyes and Melisandre's. The Red Keep was risen high and mighty in the night sky, the tallest towers hidden amongst clouds and fog.

Her shoulders were relaxed, her posture and demeanor set with confidence. Arya felt that if she could see the priestess's face, she might see a smile playing upon her lips.

The Red Woman finally turned to face them all, with a small smile as Arya predicted, and was joined by the King to light a bonfire. Aboard the ship.

On the deck. The wooden deck.

Salladhor Saan would be none too pleased.

Arya tuned out the grand speech, her gaze focused over the priestess's head and on the castle that was so unfamiliar and so sickeningly familiar at the same time.

"It looks different."

She glanced to him at his quiet words, and then back to the castle, only staring harder than before. "I think we're just different."

Ser Davos rowed them down to the River Gate in silence, quiet and unseen in the shadows. Arya wasn't sure if the Hand was relieved or angry to be left out of the first attack.

Over by the Iron Gate, their fleet was approaching. And up along the castle walls, men were waiting, with arrows and stones and fire. Not wildfire, she pleaded to any god that would listen.

Arya was going to get Sansa out either way, if Stannis lost or won. But she needed the distraction they would provide, the chaos. She needed to remain unnoticed.

And her northmen. They were aboard those ships, lives she was responsible for. Not wildfire, she pleaded again. Not today.

From the little boat, she would not look. She would not sneak a glance at the Iron Gate or Salladhor Saan's fleet. She would not peek over to her shoulder, just to catch a glimpse of scarlet robes, or fire raining down. She would not look.

But then she did. It was an explosion, loud and thrumming in her ears. Her head jerked so quickly, so impulsively, to see.

The sky was colored green, queer flames and mist dancing dangerously. It circled around the fleet, but never so much as kissed any of the ships.

Another ablaze arrow was loosed, a spec in the air from her current distance. Ten or so feet away from the fleet, it bounced back in the green smoke. At contact, another loud boom vibrated through her. Flames bubbled up, and angry sparks gave way.

Like an invisible shield, Arya thought. Melisandre's praying paid off. "She did it," she whispered in awe. "She actually did it."

Davos grunted. "She doesn't surprise me anymore."

Gendry's eyes were just as intent on the spectacle as hers. "How?" was all he said.

Davos grunted again as answer, through his practiced, silent rowing strokes. "We're here."

At that, he had her full attention. She glanced around, and saw that they were only a few feet from the shore. Upwards, there was a tower.

"Is there a guard?" Gendry asked, reading her mind.

"Maybe," he glanced up as well. "It's too dark for him to see though."

He got out of the boat, and nodded for them to follow suit. Arya did so first. Water soaked through her boots and breeches, up to her knees. Gendry scrambled out next, much more awkwardly for the small boat was not so accommodating to his size.

After they were all ashore, even the boat, Davos assessed the gate. He walked along the castle walls, until he paused before the lowest and most suitable one. "We climb here."

Gendry went first, and with a boost from the Onion Knight, he could reach the top of the brick wall and pull himself up. Arya went next, her boot in Davos' palm, and her hand clasped in Gendry's tugging one.

Once atop the wall, Gendry reached down for Davos, though Arya could tell the Hand would need a boost up. "I'm not sure I can—"

"This is where I leave you," he whispered. "I go to the Iron Gate now."

The Iron Gate would be complete chaos. That's why she had avoided it, for her brothers' and Gendry's sake. "We can get some rope—"

"I'm Hand of the King," he shook his head. "I should be with the King, should I not?" He smiled, then. "Stay safe, m'lady." He nodded to Gendry. "You too. For the little princess's sake. And Edric's."

Gendry started, "About him—"

"He's been assigned onto one of the last waves of attacks," Davos assured. "He won't be happy about it, but… he'll be alive."

"Thank you."

The Onion Knight nodded.

And then he left. "Stay safe, Ser Davos," she whispered as his form disappeared into the night.

"Where are we going?"

Arya tugged Gendry along by the hand, ignoring his whispered question. "Shhhh."

They were behind a shop, attempting to stay hidden in the shadows. She poked her head around the brick wall, rough against her neck and hand where it grazed. There was no one around, as she predicted—the townsfolk would be hiding.

If she hadn't known any better, King's Landing had been completely abandoned.

"Do you know where we're going?"

"Yes," she hissed. "There is a… secret passage way of sorts. Into the Red Keep. I've…" There wasn't time to explain the entire story. "Just shut up and trust me, will you?"

He nodded and she went back to peering around the wall. "We need to get there, before… before."

Before they've broken the gates. The thump and clank of the ram striking the gate could be heard all across the city.

Arya didn't want to get caught up in the battlements. For Jon's sake, she told herself. For Rickon's and Bran's. For Gendry's.

Satisfied that it was clear, she ran across the street and into an alleyway, dragging Gendry with her. They cut through, making a right turn, and then they were in another deserted street.

She paused then, pressing her back against the wall. Which way? How much further?

It had been three years since she was in King's Landing, three years since she had been chasing cats and wandering blindly through an unknown tunnel beneath the Red Keep until she ended up out by the river.

"The Street of Steel is just over there."

Gendry's vague voice interrupted her internal debate of whether to turn right or left. She glanced up, and followed his intense stare towards the direction of his old home. "Oh," she said. "Yeah, I guess so." The Great Sept of Baelor was just over there, too.

"Tobho Mott is just over there."

"Gendry—"

But then he was running. Running down the Street of Steel, running towards Tobho Mott's shop.

He pulled her with him, and her feet stumbled to keep up. She dug her heels into the gravel, and her hand clasped around his forearm. "Just wait," she told him as she pulled him around and to a halt.

Another loud clank of the gates thundered, followed with a roar of cheers, and she knew. They had been opened.

"We need to get to the Red Keep, right now." Her voice was high and panicked. "We need to get to my sister, before… before. Gendry, please—"

"I have to see him, Arya. I have to ask him why. I have to yell and I have to thank him, save him. Hit him—I don't know! I just… have to see him."

No. No, she wanted to tell him. But instead, she simply bit her lip and said, "I'll…" She swallowed thickly. "I'll wait for you here. It's safer that way." The lie was bitter and unsavory on her tongue. "Be quick."

"I know you, Arya. Don't run off. Don't leave without me," he said. "Promise me you won't."

His eyes were intent on hers, looking for any hint of deceit or hesitation. She tilted her chin up, not backing away from his gaze. "Promise," she told him evenly.

He kissed her softly on the lips, and she wished there was time to linger. His thumb stroked her cheek, and he brought his lips to her forehead. "I'll be quick."

And then he turned around, running out into the night. She stared after him until she no longer could, until the shadows completely took him away from her.

Then she turned the corner. Right, she decided.

AN: I know I promised action, but I couldn't get this chapter finished by Tuesday and it's been over a week since I last updated, so I cut this one short. I swear, the action is coming next chapter!

Thank you for the reviews and follows, as always. And also for being patient with me these past couple of weeks about late updates and inconsistent chapter lengths!